Doctor Donna
by VictoriousNagini
Summary: When the Doctor gets sick, will Donna be able to tolerate him? Or will she fail to stop herself from whacking him silly? Set before my DW/Harry Potter crossover fic Hogsmeade's Secret (located at my Wattpad and I may post it here eventually) and sometime after PotO, but it doesn't need to be read to underestand this. It's just a silly short prequel anyway. Mainly Donna's POV.


**A/N:** Gosh, I really miss these two nuts together, on the show and off, lol. Well, I hope I do Donna justice and…

Enjoyxx

* * *

The Doctor sneezed. The Doctor never sneezes and it gives Donna a start as she places her magazine aside.

"Gesundheit. All right?"

"Thanks." He sniffs and hoped the TARDIS has been kind enough to replace the tissues from his failed 'Tick-Tock-Tissue-Fort' experiment a few weeks ago. "Just allergies. I should steer clear of any flowers for awhile, to be safe."

"So, you can have allergies?"

"Not completely alien, thought you knew."

"You never said."

"Didn't I? Well, now you do."

He pulled a lever and landed the TARDIS in the backyard of her house, not an easy feat, since half the neighborhood was at home – not that it was ever a problem for them when people rarely noticed what they should, she simply wondered what would happen if someone from her own planet ever saw them as a real threat. Bedlam, perhaps? Either way, Donna was amazed at having finally convinced him to stay over for a nice (and safe for a change) holiday weekend by goading him with a prize of banana pudding and Meet Me in St. Louis, she found a drawer filled with his memorabilia from The Wizard of Oz and knew he harbored a thing for Garland by the beam on his face in one black-and-white photo of him and her together backstage. She loved her room in the TARDIS and while she could never part with waking up to a spacious galley (and rooms containing more surprises than she cared to mosey through), there was just something about coming home during the holidays that hardly failed to lift her spirits.

 _A day later however proved much more difficult in the eyes of his companion than she ever could have anticipated…_

* * *

"Right. Temperature is…a hundred point six. Definitely a fever. Wait, why am I taking your temp anyway, lazy?"

"But that can't be!" He choose to ignore that because he needed his Donna to be noble now more than she was possibly ready for and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, although it did little in the way of warmth. "I'm immune to the common—common—Achoo!"

"And now you're not. A virus, perhaps? Still, it can be beneficial to fighting off the infection. Or whatever it is."

Donna handed him the second 'emergency' tissue box, he'd used the first after an hour. They were currently seated in the living room, laps occupied with popcorn and half empty tea that had long since cooled setting on the coffee table. Evidently the 'allergies' were a sign of warning as the Doctor's cold had progressed into the usual sysmtoms: congestion, aching muscles, chills, weakness, and general 'I want my mummy' crappiness. Basically he was being a serious child about the whole ordeal. At least the coughing fits and nausea had subsided, it would be too soon if she saw another bowl of soup in her life. Of course, he was in complete denial about anything getting out of hand and he is thus superior against a petty common cold that plauge those poor, sensitive, humans each year. Except she noticed he liked to complain while simlutanously arguing that everything was indeed fine. He stopped this however when she made him take 'grotty' orange flavored medicine instead of the 'lovely' cherry flavor, although the colossal 'pout of pouts' remained to make a name for itself. That was Friday, it is now Saturday and already she's planning to escape in the TARDIS come nightfall.

She sighed and brought him another pillow as he complained about the ache in his back for the zillionith time. Two reasonably good things have come out of this:

1\. He couldn't blabble on at the speed of lightning.

2\. She promised herself to by no means to allow him to take care of her in a crisis.

After more than her fair share of a bad three days during every twenty-eight, a common cold was a breeze, to her at least because she rarely got sick in her younger years. The kids at school used to call her Steel Rollin' Donna. Though she felt bad for the women like her mother who couldn't leave the house for a few days. Thankfully, Sylvia and Wilf are spending their vacation with close relatives and were not present to witness this catastrophic turn of events.

 _Honestly, how the hell did his other companions put up with this idiocy without swatting him over the head? Not *particularly* enough to kill him of course, but enough to sleep it off— as in, a few days._

Oh well, she saw no sense in dewelling on what can't be helped and settled in next to the Doctor, to which he responded by snuggling closer to Donna, practically intwining his legs with hers and totally invading her space without a care in the world. She huffed and grudgingly moved over a bit, there was only so much room on her mother's couch and for someone who is all limbs it wasn't difficult to take up most of it.

"Oi! Don't get chummy now. You've got a ways to go and if I catch your filthy germs, who'll put up with your whining then?"

"But Donna I'm _cold_ and _tired_ and _ache-y_. On the inside at least and I can't get warm for anything."

"Welcome to the human race, skinny. I'll get some fresh tea before we start the movie."

"I told you to stop calling me that," He winced as she threw off the blanket that had mysteriously shifted to her side.

"Why? It sticks. Unlike food to your bones—"

"Donna! Cold. Queasy. Need tea. Rassilon, would you stop creating so much air?"

"Hush, pouty. Only take a tick, think you can live until then?"

He pursed his lips. "I suppose so."

She took the best answer she was probably going to get and refilled his mug, she returned with the actual form of a smile on her face, it was kind of nice to do something for him—in all honesty he _did_ take her to see the most beautiful planets when he promised to, which turned out sometimes the worst, but in the end it didn't really matter because the good they tried to accomplish usually outweighed the bad. The Doctor had his head rested against the back of the couch, eyes drifting close, and she saw this as the perfect opportunity to gauge his temperature, she got an instant flashback of how Sylvia must've looked taking care of her and hoped one day she would be there for a child of her own.

Just not this one.

She checked his forehead again, it was hotter than before and she realized just how much he was flushing despite his recent rantings of being the opposite. "Aren't feeling just a tiny bit delirious? Confused? Any random convulsions I should know about?"

"Funny. Very." A smirked crept over his features in spite of his sardonic tone.

"I'm serious!" She said this through a mega-watt smile.

"Nope. My body temperature is above the average of humans, therefore it would take up to, oh, a hundred and fiftteen. Which, oddly enough, would mean my fever would be over in approximately two hours and ninty minutes. But as it is, I'm only nursing a low-grade fever at this point. Worst is a bit of dehydration, really."

"Wow, I see your body doesn't waste time. Guess you won't be needing any more medicine?"

"Nah, my pyrogens are telling my hypothalamus to increase the temperature tenfold. Should be right as rain in an hour. Eh, I reckon more like forty minutes."

She tapped a well minicured nail on his mug before setting it down and gazing at him expectantly.

"Oh, Donna. Strictly textbook! Pyrogens are essential—"

She arched a brow and the Doctor suddenly felt as though he'd escaped the Claw all over again.

"I'll shut up now. And thank you. Truly, this is grade A."

"Mm."

* * *

Minutes ticked by as the movie was coming to an end. The same could not be said for the Doctor's impatience, sadly, as he nudged her.

"Tell me a story." He whispered this as if the house were bugged while Donna looked suddenly grief-stricken.

"Nah, I'm rubbish—especially when the person who asks happens to be an adult. You must have a hundred stories floating around in that big brain of yours."

"Yeah, like the time I once saw a chicken with no head attached. Still flying around he was," He shivered, and not from the fever. "One of the freakiest things I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Although, I find a nice hot bath always soothes the terrible memories."

Donna stared, head tilted and eyes narrowed as if she could somehow figure out when exactly his brain had been fried during the course of his nine hundred plus year lifespan.

"I'm not gonna bathe you, Doctor."

"I wasn't—why? Eighty-five degrees should do."

She threw her slipper.

"Weak, Donna. Remember? Simply a moment of weakness! Feeling a bit faint actually," He dodged the second one, putting up his hands in surrender and laughing at her failure to gain the upperhand. "But I bet you'll tell me one next time, eh?"

The eyebrow wiggling stopped when Donna stole his pillows right from under him, leaving him exposed to a hard spring somewhere in the couch and his body sore yet again.

"Oi!" He held a remaining pillow in front of him, in full battle mode now; small as it may be, it would have to do.

"Don't tempt me, Doctor. I'm lethal with a pillow; I once took down eleven girls in my class at a sleepover once with an overstuffed pillowcase and some dental floss. Granted they were all wusses, but I've had some moments and no one dared steal my lunch. Don't mess."

"Right. Well…yeah. Good, that's… good?" He gulped. How should he react to that?! Possibly by easing the cushion back into place at a safe distance, a bit scared and worried that the pudding was in fact not worth it at all.

Five minutes after they'd calmed and ceased sneaking suspicious glances at each other the Doctor pulled out a book from God-knows-what depths of his pocket.

"Donna will you read this to me?"

"No. Tea?"

"But—fine. I'll give you a message."

"No. More pillows?"

"I'll do your laundry for a month."

She winked. "No. Amature."

"Paint your nails?"

She scrunched up her nose. "No! It's weird enough having you roam around the ship in my bath robe."

"It's fluffy!" He crossed his arms, staring straight ahead and she thinks he's off in his own world where so little can reach him. "Rose used to. It really…helped."

Donna finally caved and looked at him unertainly; with the help of some much needed jelly babies she'd once got him to tell her about the few companions before her—one in particular was Rose Tyler. He would skimp over the bad parts, but she had an inkling he was very much in love with this 'shop girl' by the way he prattled on and that he'd compensated a hefty price for allowing himself to. Needless to say, she had been there before as they both well recall. Which is why she read him The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy ( _what the hell was Adams on when he wrote this?)_ until she heard soft snoring.

 _Thank God. I've seen puppies tire faster than him._

She thought smugly as she turned off the lamp and pulled the blanket up until it reached his chin, noticing that at last his chills have stopped. He mumbled something in his sleep and turned to his side, dragging the blanket off half way.

She sighed and realized there truly was no hope for him when he was alone.

"Goodnight Doctor."

Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad holiday after all.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know from experience how Doc feels, allergies can sometimes lead to colds if left untreated or if it's affecting your everyday routine, at least mine does, heh. Obviously, you're in some serious shit if your temp is 115—providing you've lived, I have no real idea what tempture it takes to throw the Doctor into dilerium etc, but he mentioned (I likely read somewhere) that his body tempture is kind of abnormal to us humans, even though he's techically half-human—so I just ran with it. I'm also assuming it's around Christmas during this fic...I think.

Thanks for readin'. :3


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